


Six-Faced Summer

by ara_niki



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Feels, Awkward Crush, Coming of Age, Crushes, Light Angst, M/M, POV First Person, Puppy Love, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-12
Updated: 2018-07-14
Packaged: 2019-05-21 10:47:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14913944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ara_niki/pseuds/ara_niki
Summary: On a weekly email service, Renjun recounts the summer he met Jaemin with six questions.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Happy 1st birthday to the NCTzens!  
> This is my first ever AU in a while (the last time I wrote fan fiction was five years ago ;;), and while writing this I'm not sure why I stopped-turns out I'm enjoying it a lot! It's also my first time using AO3. I'll update the tags as I go, don't worry! Enjoy ♡

Tuesday, May 1, 2018  
      _BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP._

     The incessant ringing of my alarm had shot me awake today. On a summer morning at 5am? More likely than you’d think. I swept the desk across me with half-open eyes as my arm searched for my phone, nearly shoving my bag off the desk if it weren’t for the DSLR camera that my smart ass placed so strategically close to the phone. Smart.

     You’d think I’d be annoyed about having to do this for the third summer in a row. I mean, I have enough natural talent in photography to not go anymore, but summer after summer I feel myself still being drawn into this, even if it means leaving the house at an ungodly hour then come back in either the sweltering heat of the afternoon or the uncertainty of the night. Auntie has to work the afternoon and night shifts at the hospital in the next city during the summer, which leaves me in the hands of the commute too. Knowing I won’t be enjoying the airconditioning of her car on the way to and from class kind of makes me want to pull my arm back under the comforter.

     I look blankly at the blackboard across me, tapping my pencil’s head on my jaw. I think I’ve been in Sir Agusan’s classes enough to not pay attention to the orientation, but sadly, I’m not seated in my usual place-near the window at the back-because, if you hadn’t noticed, it was kind of hard reaching for the alarm this morning, and someone had beat me to it.

\--

     Sir Agusan’s classes have a pattern (I mean, If I’m not sure what I’m doing here for three summers in a row, I should at least be able to pinpoint that). It’s five weeks long, with the first weekend spent learning about the basic functions in a camera-exposure, shutter speed, ISO, that stuff. The second, third, in-between weekends are used for practice, and the last weekend for the exhibit. This is the part he’s been explaining for the past hour. 

     If he wants to keep our attention for the next three hours, he’s really going to have to work a little harder. He’s lucky enough the first few days are half day schedules. I resolved to draw leaves and Moomin doing random things, when-

     “Shit,” I mumbled. The eraser bounced off my desk and onto the floor behind me. I had just stretched my hand out when I saw a hand take it from under their own desk and put it on my palm.

     “Here,” the owner of the voice said. I looked up to see an orange-haired boy smiling (down) at me before going back to writing their notes.

     His fingers trailed the floor when he picked it up. That’s weird. 

     And who wears sleeveless knit pullovers over long sleeves in the morning anymore? I mean, not that my plain shirt and jacket is anything out of this world, it’s just a genuine question. In a place like Gada University, you’d expect someone to know it’s on the warmer side around here, unless… A new kid. Exactly. 

     I’d only gone back to drawing a while after that when a deep voice had come from behind me.

     “He sure is tall,” the orange-haired boy whispered.

     I looked up from my drawing and turned to him. He wasn’t directly behind me-chairs in workshop classes are a mess-so twisting towards his direction wasn’t a pain. Normally, anybody suddenly talking to themselves in an art class means you should probably change seats ASAP, but besides the pullover, he wasn’t a total weirdo. This was different.

     Here at Gada, the summer is exactly what you’d imagine it to be. The 11am sun streaming in through the window, with trees swaying in the wind and occasional birds chirping outside, just like any other day. But again, this was different.

     The sun formed a halo on his wind-blown hair. It was a mess, but it looked planned. Even the way the notebook on his desk reflected light on his face made him look like he was glowing. As he looked out the window, he tilted his head here and there, but he seemed painted into the scene-as if my eyes were registering a static shot, stuck in time.

     “Hey,” he said, snapping me out of my stare, “isn’t it class hours right now? He’s technically cutting, right?”

     I tilted my chair backwards and looked out the window along with him, then snickered. “You’d think a dude that tall would get caught by a hall monitor by now,” I said. Some 6 foot tall guy was walking calmly along the walkway by the grade school building-he wasn’t in my class, but I knew my batchmates when I saw them.

     “That’s Lucas. Probably lost a bet to his teammates in the basketball team again.” 

     The boy laughed. “That kind of reminds me of something I used to do with one of my schoolmates.”

     “Yeah? How’d that go?” And so he proceeded to talk about cutting class on Thursdays to feed a stray cat that his classmate Jeno had found at the kindergarten playground. He talked about how they saw the little thing across their building, then how they ate together by the benches hidden behind the playground’s pool. I also now know that he’s eaten pretty much everything for lunch-from fried chicken to ramen to pizza, like he’s eating now, after dragging his one-sided conversation all the way up to lunch time.

     “And eventually we had to give up on feeding Nano, since we couldn’t risk losing so much time changing for swimming class which was another building away-” and then he stopped. “Hold on, Renjun, I’m just going to drink some water.”

     This whole time I thought he hadn’t known my name and thought he was weird for dragging me, relatively a stranger, all the way to the cafeteria without asking, but now I realize I’m the weird one for spending nearly the whole morning with a stranger who wears prep school pullovers in the morning. 

     I’m not sure what kind of telepathy he was on, but the orange-haired boy seemed to notice. He placed the cap back on his jug, and extended his arm across the table to me.

     “Jaemin. Na Jaemin.”

     I looked at his hand, took it in mine, and shook it. “Renjun. Hu-”

     “Huang Renjun, right?” Jaemin laughed. His voice kinda disappears when he does that. “You’ve been listening to me all day and you’ve barely said anything. You’re a little weird, huh?”

     “Says the person who knows my name without asking,” I say, looking up from my packed lunch, chewing a spoonful as I continued. “And talking for an hour straight. And wearing knitwear in the summer heat.”

     Unfazed, Jaemin laughed to himself before holding his jug out. “You want some?”

     “No thanks, I’ve got my own.”

     Jaemin pouted, looking at me while I drink out of my jug. “Wow, it isn’t an indirect kiss or anything. You don’t have to play hard to get with me.”

     I gagged, immediately put my jug down, and motioned my head downward in shock, which only made him laugh even more. “Hey, calm down, I’m just kidding! You’re funny when you aren’t drawing by yourself, Renjun-ah.”

     I swallowed my water and wiped my face. Wait, _Renjun-ah?_ This guy really is weird. 

     Jaemin picked up his vibrating phone from the table. “Oh hey, my mom’s here to pick me up. I’ll go on ahead, alright? It was nice talking to you!” As he skipped further away, he added, “Don’t miss me too much!” As I looked up from my barely eaten rice toppings, his silhouette was already out the open doors.

     I drank out of my jug one last time and put the lid back on my lunchbox before stuffing them both back into my bag.

     He sure talks a lot.

\--

     Bed. Earphones. Podcast. I lied down like a starfish and stared at the ceiling. To break away from my photography workshop schedule, I made it routine to listen to artists interview other creatives in the quiet of my room. I closed my eyes, listening to Henry Liang talking about his latest project.

     “It’s one of my biggest projects to date. Designing for tourism is a big task, knowing my work has a chance of being slapped across planes, like bam! Once in a lifetime opportunity. I’ve always been invited to do ads, but there’s something about doing them over and over that I don’t actually notice how tiresome it is anymore compared to when I initially started. Mind-blowing projects like this just come up and suddenly it isn’t like the over-and-over I’ve dealt with before.”

     I closed my eyes. Jaemin. I’d never seen him around town, nor have I ever seen him in the hospital Auntie works in. He’s beautiful, I’ll give him that. I know what a good-looking person looks like just like the next guy. But someone as noisy as him dragging me around for the next month sounds like a hell of a summer to anticipate.

     “Before I continue, an ad from our sponsors.” _Skip 15 seconds._ “Wagyu Basket is a-” _Skip 15 seconds._ “Three dollars off your next purchase…” _Skip._ “Storyboard is…” _Skip._ “They send you little questions... ” _Skip._ “... which they send to you in a beautifully bound book…”

      _Hold on._ I pressed the reverse button again. “Storyboard is a platform making it easy and fun to send your loved ones an unconventional book of story prompts,” Henry read out of his script. “It’s pretty neat-they send you little questions about life, which you answer, so you could write about little fun memories and stories, which they send to you in a beautifully bound book for loved ones-family, friends, whoever you register-to receive after a set time of your choice.” Huh. 

      _[Search: Storyboard.]_

     Still lied down, I took my phone into my hands and stared at the glowing rectangle amid the darkness. On the website, there were different banners of people modeling the Storyboard books. Old couples, kids with their parents, husbands and wives alike. Story prompts, huh? I mean, I guess I’ve liked writing since before, but I’ve never made any kind of written log book for my photography workshop experiences.

     I scrolled down the website. 

      _[Continue with your email.]_

     I only had a name, but not an address. I typed down my own.  
      I’m not sure what’s pushing the buttons on this website, but next thing you know I’m on the final page of registration.

     Now, I’m not saying I’m about to pay 60 dollars to treat this summer like a special case. I’m not about to dedicate a log for a person whose proven capacity to talk extends for up to four hours, with a history of class cutting, with vibrant orange hair and every eccentric trait that makes him an obvious factor to what will make or break this repetitive experience for me.

      _[Storyteller recipient: Na Jaemin]_

     But that’s exactly what I’m saying.


	2. What's your favorite lunch to bring to school?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The previous chapter was only the prologue, here is the update as promised! Enjoy!

     We’re a week into Sir Agusan’s classes and Jaemin has chosen not to let me off, not for a single day since we met. Since the first day, Sir Agusan’s proposed only half day schedules for this week, so I’m lucky enough that I haven’t had to endure Knitwear New Guy’s persistent chattering for too long.

     Today I’d walked into class, as usual, except now I hear a bass-like “Renjun!” come from the back of the class. Wow, the power of familiarity on the thick-skinned, huh. I show him that I at least know he exists and suddenly he’s clamoring towards me every morning. Thankfully, the initial bird call gets drowned in the chit-chat of the 18 other students in the room. Aside from looking at him for a second-who, hey, isn’t wearing knitwear today-I kept my stare ahead and made a beeline for my desk.

     I placed my bag on the floor and took my seat. I have a habit of eating my lunch in the morning so I could sketch in the afternoon, but today I forgot to pack my homemade spam musubi into my bag-or rather, I decided not to when a certain someone had figured to eat it the morning before… and the morning before that, and the other mornings before that. Does he not know that ignoring him or force grinning is not consent?

     I took matters into my own hands and took my sketching materials out. I wasn’t going to wait for Sir Agusan with a blank face on.

     Normally, any other person would turn around, strike conversation, then laugh about the happenings of yesterday, but you don’t understand. He-hold on, _he’s_ driving me nuts. Is nuts even the right word? I think “insane” might be a better fit. He’s (attempted to) converse with me every morning without fail. He’s followed right behind me to every classroom change we make. He’s asked me _seven times_ how to operate the ISO on a camera, and his isn’t even a DSLR. I’m convinced he’s even taking photos of me when I’m doing literally nothing, and the first five days were supposed to be for _still life photography._

     I may or may not regret signing up for this storybook thing, but if all else fails I have my parents, right? 

     “Hi!”  
      “Hello!”  
       “Hello? Earth to Renjun?”  
        “Jisung, I don’t think he can hear me. Is he okay?”  
         “Renjun, _helloooooooo_.”

     I decided not to look his way. I’m not even sure which one he said today. Or did he say all five?

     Jaemin leaned over me, hovering over my head. “The pins on your bag are Moomin right? You said it a few days ago, so I searched it up. I think I had figurines of him when I was smaller.”

     I’m new to graphite, but the landscape I was drawing was turning out pretty well. I moved the reference photo on my phone around to see the lampposts across the train. I decided to work on the sky-dark to light.

     I heard a sipping sound from above me. The sound of a chair’s legs landing on the floor. A pause, then a low-pitched giggle from Jisung. Jaemin went on. “He’s a really cute character that I recognize from a pair of shoes I used to wear too! But I was more of a Pororo fan when I was younger.” 

     A short pause, and the sound of chair legs landing on the floor again. I remained bent over my sketchbook. “Hey, Jisung, stop that,” Jaemin laughed. “The chair’s not built for balancing, you know. Anyway,” his voice is directed to me again, “what are you sketching? The Gada Mall Complex? You like to shop? Ah, when did I last go shopping, it’s been a while…”

     I heard the chair again. Finally, I turned back. 

     “If you spill anything on my desk, I swear…”

     The back of my neck felt warm. He actually shut up. I hadn’t realized it, but I gripped my pencil so hard I had to wipe my hand on my pants.

     Suddenly from the front of the room the door bursted open. Mark, the class good kid was panting, his posture bent as his hands switched between resting his hands on his harem pants and fixing his baseball cap. “Sir Agusan will be here in five minutes!” 

     Everyone scurried to get back to their seats. This wasn’t a problem when you’re seated in the back-or at least, wasn’t supposed to be.

     I had nothing to worry about, until…

     “Hold on, Jisung-Jisung, wait-”

     The chair landed furiously on the floor.

     My head felt wet. Warm, too. And it smelled like macchiato.

     Maybe not everyone stared, but it definitely felt like everyone. It feels like everyone when so many bodies are turned in their chairs to look at you. My neck was warm for the worst possible reasons this morning, and at this point it felt like the mess was more than just the coffee on the floor.

     I’ve just about had it. You made me feel like a mess.

     I looked at my sketch. As I feared, droplets of coffee had landed on the lampposts and trees in the bottom of the sketch.

     I heard a paper cup being put down and a shuffling of papers from behind me. I think I even heard a familiar bass-like voice saying sorry, but my only goal was to get out of there as fast as possible. I took the same beeline to the door-through the fifth column space, into the side row. I might have gotten some of the stupid coffee on someone else’s clothes, but I’m not saying sorry for that, am I?

     Right as I’d arrived at the door, Mr. Agusan appeared, clutching the doorknob and effectively blocking the passage of the glass-frosted door.

     “And where do you, Mr. Huang Renjun, think you’re going?”

     “Drinking fountain, sir. Uhm,” I nudge my head to my right, my gaze still fixed ahead. He took the signal and looked behind me, seeing the watery footstep trail I left in my path.

      Sir Agusan sighed. “You are excused.”

     I don’t remember much more after that except taking the train home, getting changed, and not going back. 

     I didn’t even bother to stop for a drink or refill my jug.

* * *

_“What is your favorite lunch to bring to school?”_

_Hotpot. Hotpot, with beef, without a doubt.  
     But if we consider packed lunch, maybe a spam musubi. Preferably eaten alone._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of course, we need a chapter where Renjun notices Jaemin... for all the wrong reasons. HAHA  
> This is a short chapter, but the next ones will be a little longer, I promise. ♡  
> Currently I am to go on a family trip for two weeks, but I will do my best to prepare the content + image preview so I could put out the next chapter next week. Feel free to comment here or [message me on Twitter](https://twitter.com/heartsaga) to send feedback! Thank you for your patience.


	3. What is the most unusual compliment you’ve ever received but appreciated?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If there happens to be a real international school called St. Therese, I didn't mean it HAHAHA  
> Official tiny graphic will be added next week once I get my hands on my laptop again. Anyway, enjoy!

     When I had just moved away from Korea, I had been a new student in the Saint Therese International School. I was 15 years old then, and looked nothing like everyone else, except maybe the other Korean students, but then I also sounded nothing like everyone else because I was capable of speaking Korean and Chinese, but went mum when the other kids spoke in English.

     The most unusual compliment I’d ever gotten was from Chenle. Chenle was one of the Locals. Like, my kind. He was enrolled to Saint Therese only for the time being, since his father had business to run in the country, and international schools had less rules for busy men to think about.

     It was the start of 11th grade then. I’d only been in St. Therese for a year, but I already caught on at this point. Orientation week. We were all sitting cozy and minding our business when Ms. Ria arrived in class.

     You don’t take a problematic teacher seriously. That was the rule. Except Ms. Ria was a whole other case on her part. Hearing just the echo of her block heels on the hallway made lining up outside the room last twice as long as with even the most boring and carefree teachers. For the girls, it was that she wore checkered blouses, too-big-for-her slacks, and socks with all of her shoe choices-Crocs, flats, whatever. For the guys-no, everyone-it was that she got pressed over the slightest sound of talking from any corner of the room.

     The minute she walked in, everybody was quiet. Or at least, pretend quiet. Hakeem turned in his seat and started talking to the people behind him, covering his face with his hand in an obviously not obvious way, which led to everyone turning in their seats and talking, then eventually laughing out loud. Because Ms. Ria and her temper were “cooperating,” you could even hear the crunching of cereal and crackers from the back end of the room.

     Anyone with a good sense of humor would go along with Hakeem and his antics. When the funniest, tallest guy in class does something, you do it too. But I don’t know, maybe it’s the fact that I was one of only two Chinese kids in class who just wanted to get their day over with, or there’s a type of authority that comes with people not knowing whether you’ve chosen to shut up or just can’t speak the language of the chit chat.

     That day, I snapped.

     Everyone in class stared at me the whole time-from the minute I stood up, walked to Hakeem’s seat at the other end and corner of the room, told him to shut up, then walked back to take my seat again.

     That day, nobody dared to talk in class.

     Chenle ran after me in the hall during dismissal time. I could tell-he was the only kid that sounded like keychains when he walks.

     “Renjun! Renjun!”

     I turned around. “Hm?” 

     “You really did that this morning, huh? I even saw you sweating from your neck! That was intense! You legend!” Although Chenle had said that in straight Chinese, he kept “legend” in English, as was his habit.

     I glanced at the floor, somewhat resigned.

     “You only told him to shut up and he really did. You’re a class officer without being an officer… Is that what happens when you don’t talk a lot? Like they say, the tiger never eats what isn’t even considered a meal right?” He pushed his frames up his face as he talked.

     大虫不吃伏肉.

     I rolled over each syllable in my mouth now. _Da chong bu chi fu rou._ I choose my battles is probably what he meant, now that I think about it.

     But a tiger, huh. To be fair, if my meals stared back at me after I spilled coffee on myself, that would make me want to get out quick. Maybe that would make me feel better.

\--

      _“You’ve been bruised since birth, and that means you’re fated to be tough.”_

     It’s been a week since the coffee incident. Yes, I still went back to school the day after that, because hard-earned money isn’t going to go to waste just because I did a walk of shame smelling like a coffee outlet midday. I was going to go back, and life would resume as it did in the last summers.

     The days right after were still orientation days. I walked into class, headed for my usual seat, and took out my sketchbook-as you do. Except this time, the chairs were arranged and my new sketchbook was now carefully encased in a plastic envelope. His seat was directly behind mine now. He could have at least given me the sunny spot.

     I don’t know what his style is, but if he’s trying to hide from me then he really shouldn’t be walking in sun-lit pathways in his light-colored clothes. He is literally glowing right behind me wherever I go. It’s been a full week since he last bothered me, but if I count the glowing bit then he’s really better off trying to talk to me.

     We all stood at the open court with our cameras in hand. “Alright everyone,” Sir Agusan goes, arms decidedly placed on his waist, “the rules: don’t go beyond the parts I can see, don’t bother the kids while you’re at it, and DON’T-” he laughs sneakily, “I mean, _do_ have fun.”

     Everybody dispersed in an instant. From the open hallway, everyone naturally went to what I call the “usual spots:” the back of the other buildings, the edges of the open court to photograph the school’s so-called “cherry blossoms” (which were just an abnormal hybrid of orchids, by the way), or to the chapel near the grade school, since everything was peaceful there. But I was headed someplace else.

     The convent was a good building away from the workshop building. Don’t get me wrong-I’m not going to photograph any nuns or whatever. The convent was situated in the greenery of the campus, and if you walked beyond it, you could climb up hill-like lumps to get an almost aerial view of the campus. I learned this after a biology class last year led us to the convent area for a lab activity. The hill had steep steps dug into random areas of its sides, possibly by rain or snow. Okay, so _maybe_ it wasn’t meant for hiking, but more for high-risk climbing. But with no one bothering me and with daylight in perfect alignment, it was worth the risk.

     Once I’d reached the peak, I breathed in and took a good look at the sun. Alone, at the top. The wind on my face feels good. Taking the umbrella I slung on my shoulder, I was just about to click it open, until I heard:

     “Renjun-ah! Renjun-ah!”

     I clicked open the umbrella. I'll pretend I didn’t notice that.

     “It’s you up there, right?” It sounds so distant that it’s almost like I’m dreaming. Part of me wished I was.

     “Sir Agusan can’t see this place. Isn’t this cheating?” The voice is starting to sound louder. He’s really climbing up my path, huh?

     “What are you even doing here?” I ask, moving only my head to check how much progress he’d made. For a person who bickers a lot even while climbing a mountain, he climbs fast. I returned to looking at the view after seeing the orange bowl of hair from the plateau I sat on-reassurance that I wasn’t going to be liable for any unconscious bodies.

     “I don’t know any of the places in this school, so I-”

     “You followed me, right.”

     No response.

      _Huh._ Out of curiosity, I peeked at him, and the part of me that wished this was a dream suddenly jumped out.

\---------

      _“Renjun! Help me!”_

     Jaemin hung like a ragdoll against the hill. From the edge of my plateau, I saw him move his head everywhere-down below, up to me, around him for other dents in the hill to cling on to, and to the one small cavity in the hill that his panicked self had held on to dear life for. The hill wasn’t too steep-if you fell, you weren’t going to die-but I wasn’t going to risk knocking anyone unconscious, not even if they annoyed the hell out of me.

     Blood started rushing to every tip of my body as I panicked to reach my hand out to him.

     “Take my hand!” I shouted.

     Jaemin’s head began looking back and forth between his arms. “But my camera!”

     “You’re really going to put that thing over your life, dumbass?!?” The sweat between my brows was making my glasses slip off my nose. The sweat had made it into my hands. Jaemin was slipping farther and farther in seconds. My brain is a stream of curse words as I whip my head around looking for an extender.

     From all fours, I reached for my foldable umbrella, clicked and wrapped it closed before slinging it on my wrist. “Come on!”

     Jaemin’s head moved in three frames: to his camera, to his slipping hand, then to me, before he shouted: “Fine!” In one motion, Jaemin threw his tiny camera up at me and held on to the now retracted umbrella. With the strength of my clammy hands and stressed self, I (painstakingly) pulled him up.

     Once we both got up to the plateau, I stood up and started to pick up after myself. The sudden near-death situation made me wipe dirt stains all over my shirt and pants. An immense amount of sweating flooded my shirt and all over my head. Guess this means my viewing session’s done.

     With me putting order to the rest of the equipment I’d brought and Jaemin dusting himself off as meticulously as possible, an unprecedented silence seemed to come between us. The plateau on top of the hill wasn’t very wide-two people not talking to each other doesn’t go unnoticed when it’s literally just the two of you above the world.

     “You didn’t have to keep jabbing your claws at the umbrella like that,” I went. Jaemin turned to me, as if he’d just been becked by a master. “It made you that much harder to pull, you know.”

     Jaemin looked down at the grass. You know, the way a puppy looks when it lays waste to its owner’s kitchen-which it shouldn’t have done in the first place, but didn’t mean to either. He held his left wrist in his right hand, his eyes fixed on the grass. “I’m sorry,” he says, almost inaudible.

     “Your camera,” I said, picking his camera up and off the ground. Just as I’d bent and reached for it, his hand suddenly zooms past me.

     Jaemin’s fast hands now held my wrist. His troubled eyes suddenly began to resurface. “Your hand! The back of your hand!”

     “What-”

     “Oh, what are we going to do about this…” Jaemin shook my wrist and tapped a dark spot repeatedly. “How are you ever going to write again? How are you going to take pictures with this?”

     “Jaemin-”

     “It’s all my fault-”

     “Jaemin, calm down-”

     “If I just hadn’t followed you up here like a dumb idiot and looked for a location myself-”

      **“Stop!”**

     I pulled my arm away from him as quickly as he’d taken it. He turned to my face with his unabated worried eyes. Aside, I took a deep breath. Jaemin’s gaze suggests he’s either an amazing actor or someone who’s too innocent for his life to realize they could be knocked off this plateau unconscious for being so reckless.

     I raised my right hand up to eye level. “Is this what you’re talking about?” Jaemin nodded.

     “Look a little closer. What does this look like to you?”

     “A… bruise?” He moved closer to look. I could see his worried eyes look more confused than worried now.

     “Closer.”

     Jaemin took my hand in his and inspected it against the sun. A long while passed and I realized he wasn’t going to get it any time soon. “It’s a birthmark,” I finally said, before sitting on the edge of the plateau in exhaustion.

     He looked at me, and then away from me, obviously embarrassed, albeit not sheepishly. It took a while before he took a seat in the rumpled up mess of grass beside me.

     “I’m sorry.” Jaemin said, after a short silence.

     “I said stop that.”

     “I’m-”

      “Stop it.” I looked at him for an instant, then turned back to the sun. “Going to say sorry for being sorry, you… how about you say sorry for something that really matters?”

     Jaemin looked at me. Worried eyes again. “What?”

     “Like spilling coffee on me? Putting my sketches at risk when I wasn’t even bothering you?” I was calling the sky out, but I couldn’t care less.

     “Calling me every single morning when I get to class when I’m obviously not Mr. Best Dressed or the teacher’s pet. It’s like you’re doing it on purpose! Following me by my tail to every prompt, asking me how to operate your travel camera like it isn’t already supplied with how many automatic functions? It’s _automatic!_ Stealing my lunch every day too, you... You act like you’re my friend and then you ignore me like you didn’t try to reach out for me on the first day, so basically you’re full of-”

     I stopped. I looked over my shoulder to find orange hair brushing over my chin. Jaemin’s head was resting on my shoulder. I didn’t even notice.

     I looked down at my hand, which Jaemin cradled in the cusp of his one hand and gently sweeped over with the other.

     “There’s something about your birthmark. It looks like a battle scar. It’s like you’re a warrior.” He paused, following it with an almost whisper of a statement. “Anybody willing to be my friend’s a warrior, you just have the mark to make for it.”

     This time, I paused. Like, my mind paused. I’m not sure what he means and at this point I’m too afraid to ask if he knows that I’m still here.

     “I’m not acting like I’m your friend, you know,” He looked up at me and smiled. “Because I am.”

     I don't think my head's ever turned away as fast as it did. Jaemin tossed my right hand back and forth as he swung his legs.

     “But you called me your friend, didn’t you?” Jaemin said, straightening back up and turning towards me. “I do really want to be your friend, so I’ll do my best from now on so you don’t have to get mad at me again, okay?”

     I raised one eyebrow and felt my teeth behind my pursed lips. His obliviousness is on another end of the spectrum, but right now there are unexplainable emotions hitting me all at once-shame for ranting about something so ridiculous, guilt because _oh shit I might have gone too far_ , confusion because he may have just missed the whole point of the rant that I’m now feeling ashamed about, and…

     Interested.

     For three years of my life, I’d always been the different one-the one who took his photography seriously, the one that sings when the classroom is empty, the silently proclaimed class officer, the one with the sense of humor centered on gamely meanness, and now here I am, face to face with him: a happy-go-lucky open book who faces near death in broad daylight and then smiles about it like it didn’t even happen. My polar opposite.

     As we left the hill, I watched the descending sun form a halo around his head. His hands were knit together behind his back. He seemed careful going down the makeshift stairs. Towards the bottom, he turned around and spoke again.

     “You’ve been bruised since birth, and that means you’ve been fated to be tough. I respect that.”

     Even then, that halo never seemed to leave his head.

_What is the most unusual compliment you’ve ever received but appreciated?_

_~~Officer that everyone follows~~_

__

__

      _Being bruised since birth has made me tough. That is who I am._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BY THE WAY. I spent two hours coding this on mobile. brb crying LMAO hope you liked it! ♡  
> The next chapter will be up soon, so stick around!


	4. What do people get wrong about you?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the long-awaited DoTae! Hope you lot enjoy this one.

     Today is active subject day. We’re near the ending of the second week of the workshop, and by next week we should be doing portraits and assembling the exhibit for the formal ending of the workshop.

     It’s been two days since the life-or-death situation behind the convent and I guess we’re getting along again. We’ve made a few agreements here and there: one, I let him call my name every morning now, full consent, in exchange for having a full tupperware of spam musubi that will still last me until lunch time. This should’ve been the end of it, but Jaemin insisted that having a full tupperware of lunch wouldn’t make sense if I didn’t have anyone to eat with, so we made another compromise to eat together in exchange for... Now that I think about it, I’m not sure if those were compromises at all.

     Sir Agusan, in true laid-back teacher culture, let us roam around yet again, and judging by his unchanged calm state I’m guessing the news didn’t make it to him at all. “Don’t go beyond the parts I can see” was a rule left in the dust.

     As I walked with searching eyes towards the school’s open courts, I heard Jaemin coming toward me from behind. I’d know: the sunlight bounced off his clothes all the time, plus the audible beat to his step.

     “So where are we shooting today, Renjun-ah?” Jaemin said, still skipping to my side as he did.

     “Um…” I looked around and combed through the courts and gardens. “For an active subject day, this isn’t very active.”

     Jaemin pouted, following my gaze. “True…”

     To make it clear, he isn’t completely off my list of weird people yet. He’s just a little less weird now, but maybe you shouldn’t take my word for it. It’s possible I’ve just been desensitized from being around him all the time.

     “How about we just take photos of each other in motion?” Jaemin suggested.  
     “We aren't exactly the most exciting subjects though.”  
     “Uh…”  
     “Yeah, I thought so.”

     “It’s not like we have any choice right now, unless-” Jaemin’s sentence was cut by a buzzing sound. “Hold on,” he said, taking his phone out of his pocket. “Oh, it’s Jisung.”

     “Yeah, what did he say?” I leaned towards the phone, which Jaemin held out to me. His eyebrow was raised as he scrolled through the photos Jisung sent.

     I laughed. “Looks like he beat us to it.”

     Jaemin looked at each photo, then turned to me. “I asked him where he was, then all he said was to look up.”

     As if on cue, a hat flew out of the window from the third floor and fell on the grass right in front of us.

\--

     We climbed up the workshop building stairs on to the third floor with Jisung’s cap on hand. This floor was right above ours, but I only noticed the R&B ringing from this hallway today.

     Jaemin probably read my mind, because he asked, “Has music always been playing on this floor?”

     We kept walking until we reached the open door at right of the end of the hallway where the music had been spilling out from. We peeked inside and saw Jisung popping and locking in front of the studio mirror. The music had just ended a moment after we looked, but just as Jaemin and I held our hands out to clap it seemed like the other person in the back of the room did it for us.

     The guy got up from the floor, removing his cap as he went to Jisung. “You’re getting really good at this, Jisung.”

     Jisung laughed shyly, bowing repeatedly as he looked at the senior in the mirror. With the cap off, we saw the subject in Jisung’s active shots in full light. His blondish brown hair was ruffled, and though the shots looked like he’d been on full swing just moments ago, he looked like he’d barely broken a sweat. “Thank you, Taeyong-hyung,” Jisung mumbled.

     They both looked at us, and with a nudge of Taeyong-hyung’s head we were allowed inside. Allowed, because the dance studio was definitely Taeyong-hyung’s territory. Handing Jisung’s cap back, Taeyong-hyung did a bit of small talk with us, asking us for our names and what Jisung had thrown his cap out of the window for. Now that I look at him, I have seen him before. Lee Taeyong, captain of Gada Dance Varsity. I think I’ve even seen him on a magazine cover before.

     “What were you practicing for, Taeyong-hyung?” Jaemin asked.

     “Ah, it’s for the compet at the end of the month. They’re sending my team to St. Nicolas,” Taeyong-hyung replied, wiping the back of his neck with a face towel. An imaginary wow came out of mine and Jaemin’s mouths while Jisung nodded enthusiastically. “I hear you guys are doing photoshoots for Sir Agusan’s photography class?”

     I nodded. I looked at the clock behind him-lunch was upon us.

     Taeyong-hyung picked up his kilo-size training bag, clearly in the middle of thinking. “The sports teams aren’t here today…” I looked at Jaemin and pointed at the clock’s reflection on the studio mirror. At this rate, we weren’t sure how we were going to get our shots.

     Just as we were about to excuse ourselves, Taeyong-hyung seemed to catch a bulb light up ahead of him. “The drama club has a rehearsal tomorrow evening and a show next week, maybe you’ll wanna catch your pics then?”

     “But aren’t recording devices not allowed during drama performances?” Jaemin asked.

     Taeyong-hyung laughed, screwing the cap back on his drink to pat Jaemin’s back. “Don’t worry, my friend works there. I’ll talk to him. He’ll make an exception for you, I’m sure.”

     Jaemin and I looked at him, then at each other, our mouths agape. Just like Jisung’s hat, an opportunity had fallen right in front of us just like that. A “we’d love that” came out of my lips before I noticed Taeyong-hyung already leading the way.

\--

     Jaemin and I followed Taeyong-hyung to the school auditorium without Jisung, who went home at dismissal hour sharp. Although 2PM marked a high point in the summer heat, the concrete ground radiated cool air in the hallways.

     The auditorium looked so different in the hands of the drama orgs. Black velvet drapery covered the walls and hung low from the two horizontal ends of the ceiling, making the auditorium seem smaller than usual. The assembly chairs were covered in matching dark cloth. Around us, we could hear occasional “check check mic”s echoing from the speakers. People in surgical masks carried all sorts of props, scripts and acoustic panels around, while the lights on stage blinked in different patterns, colors, and areas. All sorts of activity gave life to the dimly lit venue.

     Jaemin and I followed Taeyong-hyung through makeshift curtains set up beside the stage. Before I could process the totally different world that the backstage felt like, a tall and broad figure met our gaze.

     Taeyong-hyung walked to the side of the figure, whose crossed arms and wide smile called for some introduction. “Renjun, Jaemin, this is Doyoung, the drama club secretary.”

     From his posture to his organization position to the way the makeup table lights behind him formed a glow all around his silhouette, I could tell he needed no further explanation.

     “Nice to meet you,” Jaemin was the first to hold his hand out, to which I followed. Doyoung-hyung shook our hands firmly, laughed under his breath, then returned to his crossed-arm-gummy-smile state. “Your kids at dance?”

     “No, but if you guys wanna...” Taeyong-hyung said, laughing at his own joke. “They’re actually here to take some shots for Sir Agusan’s class.”

     Jaemin and I followed their conversation with our heads. We felt a common air to not intrude on our seniors’ conversation, especially when Doyoung-hyung suddenly pulled him aside and started intently asking him questions.

     Jaemin nudged my shoulder. “I think we should wait for them outside,” he said.

     After getting bumped into by a senior carrying boxes of makeup supplies and dry-cleaned costumes (and seeing she was clearly not pleased), I nodded and followed Jaemin out of the curtain and to the audience seats.

     “Since we aren’t official documentation, Taeyong-hyung might have a lot of talking to do, huh…”

     “True…” I replied, looking into the gap of the curtain. “He might have to convince their moderator, even their production team to let us.”

     “I wonder what Taeyong-hyung is going this length for anyway,” Jaemin said, his head turning various directions in an attempt to find the moderator. “Maybe we could go and convince the moderator ourselves to cut Taeyong-hyung some slack?”

     “I don’t think stopping people as busy as them right in their tracks is a good idea, Jaemin.”

     With that, Jaemin’s head kept turning around in search for the moderator, while I checked my phone to keep track of the time. Occasionally, I peeked in the gap of the backstage curtain from my seat to keep an eye on Taeyong-hyung and Doyoung-hyung’s conversation. Taeyong-hyung was leaned against a post by the stage while Doyoung-hyung’s faced him. I could see Taeyong-hyung shooting apologetic looks to Doyoung, who in turn would put his hands on his waist and look up, which I hoped was him thinking for a solution himself.

     And then I remembered the book. Right, his address.

     “So Jaemin.”

     His head turned from the back to me. “Hm?”

     Okay, asking for an address up front is weird.“Have you tried acting before?”

     Jaemin pouted, humming as he thought. “Yeah, sure. In my old school.”

     “Yeah? How was it?”

     “I…” Jaemin squinted. “I’m not saying unless you promise you won’t judge me.”

     I smiled with my eyebrows both crooked. “Why would I judge you?”

     “To be fair, I don’t think you’d be surprised.”

     I shifted my whole body towards him, hugging the leg I lifted up into my seat. “Try me.”

     “I always did girl roles.”

     My eyes almost popped out of my sockets.

     “See, that’s exactly what I’m saying!” Jaemin said, flustered but smirking.

     “No, I’m not judging you! Do I look like I’m judging you?”

     Jaemin glared at me. My mouth was already shaped in an open grin by then, and I couldn’t help but snicker as I looked at him.

     “But seriously, tell me about it.”

     Jaemin puckered his lips. I guess he does that a lot when he’s thinking. “I haven’t told you yet, but I come from an all-boys school, and I was in the drama club there for a school year and a half.”

     I leaned back and nodded my head slowly. “That makes sense.”

     “What does?”

     “That you’re from an all-boys school.”

     Jaemin took his bag and hugged it against his chest. He leaned forward as he looked at me, his mischievous grin still planted on his face. “Yeah, why is that?”

     I looked ahead of me, refusing to answer. Jaemin now held my arm, shaking it like a rattle. “Come on, tell me,” with the “me” drawling out of his mouth. All-boys school guys just had that… vibe. That unclear-on-the-spectrum vibe.

     “No, it’s just-”

     At this exact moment, I glanced through the gap in the curtain. It wasn’t supposed to mean much; I was just trying to avoid answering Jaemin’s question. But my gaze instead flew to Taeyong and Doyoung hyung. 

     Taeyong-hyung had Doyoung-hyung’s hands in his, swinging them side to side. Taeyong-hyung’s head was leaned back, swaying along with his hands. His eyes were fixed on Doyoung-hyung in a childlike gaze. Doyoung-hyung’s thumbs rubbed Taeyong-hyung’s hands in circles.

     “Renjun? What are you looking at?” Jaemin looked at me, and then to the curtain. We watched as Doyoung-hyung pulled Taeyong-hyung closer and closer to himself, bringing the swaying body near him until their faces were inches apart. I swear I heard one of us gulp.

      _Staring is wrong. Staring is wrong. Staring is-_

     Taeyong-hyung stood on the tip of his toes, brought his face up to Doyoung-hyung’s, and kissed him.

     “Did they just…” Jaemin whispered.

     “Yeah, they-” Taeyong-hyung’s eyes were closed, and Doyoung-hyung was at an angle where we saw him close his eyes too, cupping Taeyong-hyung’s face with his one hand and placing his other hand on the smaller one’s waist. We both snapped out of our viewing session before we could see anything else.

     Jaemin and I stared ahead of us, unsure where to look at first, then at each other. We had the same look on our faces-confused and restless all at once. Jaemin nodded and stood up. I followed him outside, to the left exit of the auditorium.

     We leaned our backs against the wall outside the auditorium, air and a foot long distance between us. I couldn’t tell what Jaemin was thinking, and weirdly enough what I was thinking either.

     What I saw… I get it. I’ve never had an opinion on it because it never crossed my mind. But something in me felt weird seeing Taeyong-hyung and Doyoung-hyung kiss. Guilty. Confused. I couldn’t help but wonder how Taeyong-hyung could go that far for a favor. Was it even for our favor? Did he want to do that? He sure looked like he wanted to. The air between them, the way Taeyong-hyung looked at his “friend”...

     The stillness between us broke when the door of the backstage opened, with Taeyong-hyung and Doyoung-hyung walking out of it, with confident grins on their faces. If we leave out the part where we saw them kissing, it seemed like their confidence had come from agreeing on our informal documentation permissions, but we knew that wasn’t it.

     “Good news guys,” Doyoung-hyung said. “You’re allowed to join our production team for your photography assignment. The director sent a message to Sir A. to inform him in advance.”

     Jaemin and I mustered smiles and made little nods towards Doyoung-hyung. I guess we were both unsure at this point.

     “You can both go to Sir Agusan tomorrow and ask him if you can sit out of class so you can join rehearsals and get directions from the production team. They’ll give you location markers and a copy of the script. You’ll have seats reserved so you don’t have to run around all the time,” Taeyong-hyung continued. Jaemin and I bowed, said “thank you” and promised them we’d do our best before parting ways.

     For the first time in our “friendship,” Jaemin was the quiet one.

      “Gada looks cool in the near-evening.”  
       “Doyoung-hyung was so nice to let us in last minute.”  
        “I wonder what the play’s going to be about.”  
         “Can you believe we’ll finally be able to finish our assignment?”

     Each time that I asked I looked at him for an answer, and each time was met with silence. His head was tilted downward, eyes planted on his own footsteps. His lips parted slightly sometimes, then closed. The only time he looked at anything else was on the trees surrounding us whenever we heard a rustling noise from the bushes.

     “Jaemin. Jaemin, what’s wrong?”  
     “Hm? Nothing.”  
     “You sure? We can talk if you want.”  
     Jaemin nodded.

     And like that we walked on to the front of the multipurpose hall-silent. Once we got to the hallway, Jaemin stopped at the doors while I walked on ahead, leaving him alone under the streetlights.

\--

     I lied down and looked at the ceiling. Aside from my phone and the moon, the room was dark, and aside from the occasional night rider in the streets and my thumb tapping on my phone screen, it was quiet as hell. I scrolled through pet accounts on the home page, eventually swiping left. After a lot of swiping, a video of a gray cat-a shorthair-trying to be walked came up.

     Jaemin always found some random way to talk to me even after school: photos of food he cooked to surprise me, thoughts about how winter works in the country versus the city, making fun of my glasses and oddly colored blond hair sometimes. But tonight there was nothing.

     I watched the cat clip over and over. Jaemin had a cat once.

     I went to the home screen and looked for Jaemin’s page. His uploaded photos didn’t reveal much: pictures of him in different places, his cooking, and occasionally his previous classmates. There was a new uniform every time I swiped. Absently, I scrolled down until I found myself in last year’s archive. 

      _Nano._ I clicked on the picture of the cat. Jaemin didn’t put captions in his pictures, but the album I looked at felt different.

     First there was a photo of Nano, then a photo of Jaemin with Nano, and then a photo of Nano with someone else. The boy nuzzled his nose into the feline cradled in his arms. I moved down a bit and saw more of him-his black hair, his crescent eyes, and his smile.

     Every other person besides his family only came up once in his photos, but this particular guy had his face sprinkled over whole months.

     I spent the next hour looking him up to nothing. His only social media was an old, inactive Facebook handle. Not a photo of Jaemin was left in its archive. Against Jaemin’s photos, he felt unreal. Like he had just appeared in his life and suddenly gone.

     Looking through his photos, I wasn’t sure what I was trying to achieve. I felt my brain short-circuit. Seeing Jaemin hanging out with this “Jeno” he’s talked about for real doesn’t feel real, but somehow my heart still dropped. I threw my face into my pillow and eventually lost track of when I’d fallen asleep, duvet-less and unwashed.

* * *

_“What do people get wrong about you?”_

_That I don’t care. Because I do. For everyone, I do. For certain people, a lot.  
    _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A slightly longer one to reward everyone who's been supporting this work! I'm sorry this took a while to publish, I did a bit of soul-searching and eventually found the inspiration I needed to fix this story's plot. This means that not all of the chapters will be answering a question in the future!
> 
> P.S. Expect a cameo from Ten in the next chapter ;)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed! Feel free to subscribe to me or this work as well if that's your cup of tea. ♡  
> P.S. This is inspired by the concept of [Storyworth](https://www.storyworth.com/)! I heard about it on a podcast and thus this was born. Check it out if you'd like!  
> Feel free to get in touch via [CC](https://www.curiouscat.me/heartsaga) or [Twitter](https://www.twitter.com/heartsaga) for feedback too! Read on!


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